Night
by Pyroluminescence
Summary: It has been three months, to the hour, since L had been declared missing. Violence, gore, L!torture, rape, angst, sexual situations, and LxLight fluff.


It has been three months, to the hour, since L had been declared missing.

And Light Yagami, now twenty-three, could care less about dates and trivialities. What makes the three-month mark monumental for him is that, by three months, it's no longer safe for him to hope that L is alive.

There were no traces left behind of him; it was as though he had simply vanished. And, perhaps, he has vanished. It is unlikely that L would disappear for any length of time for his own reasons without taking precautions should anything happen to him. L is enigmatic and he reveals nothing, but communication and connections are important to him. His cell phone, kept on his person at all times, was no longer traceable by the one person who knew how. There had been no distress signals sent and his phone had likely been completely without function.

Light Yagami knows two things: One, L would never remove his own emergency precautions. Two, he would not disappear, wordlessly and recklessly on his own free will and judgment.

There is the possibility of L having been captured, but that was simply impossible – L did not leak _any _information that could lead to his whereabouts. Everything L _did _involved an element of self-preservation. And, were L captured, there was simply no way that _L _could go this long without escaping, communicating, or... _Surviving. _The only explanation for L having disappeared so completely is that he's dead, as no prison could hold him and nothing could keep him from his duties.

Light likes to think that there's a strictly personal element to his doubt in L's ability to cease contact with him, and that is that L simply wouldn't worry _him_ this way. Surely, L cares about him that much. Even if he knows he's forcing himself to believe what may not be the complete truth (but cannot be called a lie) by having participated in his relationship with L (it is as such where he needs to use the past tense), he believes that L could not cheat him without good reason for doing so. If getting closer to him was L's way of getting closer to Kira, then L would work to reveal him as Kira, and should L disappear, he would reason that telling Light would be the best way to keep his trust.

Except Light Yagami, less rational as a man than he was as a teenager, already trusts him far too much for knowing all along that, to L, he is a Kira suspect first and Light Yagami second.

And he wants to believe that maybe this is part of L's never-disappearing investigation into his "having been" Kira. He wants to believe this, and the conceitedness of it, for once, sickens him rather than appeals to him. He should not _want _to believe anything that leads him back to the possibility of, or the investigation into his having been Kira.

Yet, he knows (furthering his rare self-disgust) that L is simply too _brilliant _to resort to such tactics as _disappearing _in order to pursue his suspicions. Yes, Kira would certainly feel comfortable stretching his limbs in the absence of L, but L wouldn't allow for such an absence without, again, taking the measures to ensure communication and, above all, his safety.

Light can no longer _safely _hope that L is alive, but that doesn't stop him. Listing and analyzing the thousands of possibilities, scenerios, reasonings, and the rare lead keep him busy with anything besides the fact that he _may_ have lost L. He works endlessly on related and unrelated cases, almost surpassing the enigmatic Near as L's successor (or, as Light would like to think, _stand-in_). The reality of facts and small victories distracts him from the reality of the fact that he's hurting more than he should.

It's gone beyond his simply _missing_ L, and he knows this. He's in despair, and he's in mourning, and he's growing increasingly unashamed in admitting it.

It's not for a lack of acting on Light's part that's revealed his despair; it's simple reasoning. While his act never falters and he's always remained hopeful and dedicated to the tasks at hand, it is easy to draw the conclusion that Light, being human, is _hurting_. No longer as energetic as he had been, it becomes harder and harder not to be human. He'd nearly snapped in the years after his 50-day confinement and the confirmation that he was not Kira, and he likes to think the confirmation came from the fact that he simply _couldn't _take L's absolute certainty in his being Kira. Someone as cold and inhumane as Kira would have been immune to the harshness of confinement and accusation, and a gun to the head would have been a bad memory, at the worst.

For the sake of the investigators around him, and for his family, he keeps putting up his painfully flawless act, even knowing that they can see his hurting and that his pretending otherwise only makes them feel worse. It doesn't matter; Light doesn't want to be pitied.

As the anniversary day comes to an end, Light wonders if this is really what it means to care about someone unconditionally. L is a lying, cheating human being who hates losing and will go to inhumane and unlawful measures to win, and L is not above cheating _his _trust if it means somehow getting closer to the proof of Light's guilt – something Light himself knows does not exist. L seems to have no sense of true justice, and sees people as useful tools rather than allies. Knowing this, and knowing that L may even hold him at the same standard, Light cannot bring himself to care any less for the man. For how little Light knows about him, there is nothing about L he can't like. Even if L's claiming to love him was a lie, Light's inability to tell L as much is sure proof that he _does _love L. Truth is harder to convey than a lie.

As he expects, Misa Amane is curled up under the covers of his bed, opposite where he sleeps. While there's nothing romantic or sexual about his attraction to Amane – a fact she has begrudgingly accepted and slowly begun to return, he's glad for her companionship, and for the persistence that saves him the humiliation of admitting he doesn't want to sleep alone. That's why Misa's friendship is valuable – he's allowed to be human with no consequences.

He slips under layers of cotton and wool and regrets not exhausting himself enough beforehand. Unable to do anything about it, he closes his eyes and focuses on the soft, rhythmic breathing of the woman opposite him until the sound lulls him into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

–

"L, what the hell are you doing?"

L looks up, eyes wide and expression somewhat authoritative. "...I'd rather not have to ask you _again _to use more discretion about saying my name."

A harsh sigh. "Rue Ryuuzaki was _my _alias. It's not your name to use."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"...You're right; I'm really not," L confirms. "To answer your question, I was trying to recite the ingredients of a particular cereal and to remember the properties of pyridoxine hydrochloride. ...Which I have. Surprising, considering I've never been interested in nutrition."

"Yet, despite your lack of nutritional knowledge, you manage to survive on a diet of almost exclusively sweets."

L doesn't respond at first, but then he sighs, seeming to dismiss their conversation. "What have you been doing to entertain yourself, B?"

B sighs as well. "What entertainment is there? I never thought we'd get sick of talking to each other, but several months of this is about all I can take. It's getting to the point where interrogation and outright _torture _are a relief from boredom." B pauses to consider this. "I wonder if this is what you call Stockholm Syndrome."

"No," L answers as he draws his knees up to his chest. "Stockholm Syndrome is an emotional attachment to a captor, most often in cases where abuse is _not _present." L scans down the length of B's torso as if to remind the other that this is _not _the case. "Ordinarily, I'd say there was some truth to that idea, but I've seen someone succumb to Stockholm, and it's very much a strictly emotional affair, whereas you are simply adjusting to your abuse and adapting enough to see it as an outlet for your boredom."

B doesn't seem to hear the part about him, and he nods, understanding something outspoken. "Light Yagami?"

"Yes," L answers simply. When B does not press and the rare opportunity for continued conversation remains, he continues. "As I told you, he was confined for fifty days. His only communication was with me, and during that period, I was also the one who arranged for him to be fed, as well as set the times for him to use the toilet, shower, and change. I dictated every aspect of his life and kept him alive and completely dependent on me during a period of strict incarceration. Despite my being responsible for his confinement, he saw me as the one who freed him and developed a subconscious attraction to me."

B frowns, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "How can you be sure?"

"For quite a time afterward, while we were handcuffed together, he wasn't at all as private of a person as he had been before that. He had little complaint about the predicament and didn't seem to want to reprimand me for illegally holding him in confinement so long, or for having a gun pointed in his face, both of which likely had lasting traumatic influences on him," L explains. "As if acting like a friend towards me weren't strange enough, he was outright _affectionate _in some instances."

This time, B nods, though L can barely tell in the scarce lighting. "...Was this the basis for your relationship?"

"...No," L answers, and it's clear in L's unusual tone that there is nothing more that he will say on the matter.

–

Conversations happen rarely – typically a couple times a week. Where L and B are held, there is no view of a window. Their awareness of the passing of time – something their captors have gone to great lengths to prevent, is limited to when, during interrogations or meaningless periods of physical abuse, they happen to pass a window or, more rarely, a digital clock. Occasionally, the iPods or wristwatches of their captors will be close enough for them to make out the time. Most of their prisoners have discovered that they are "freed" from their cells twice a day for these instances of interrogation and abuse. Keeping track of the time, once extremely simple for L, became increasingly difficult as his time here went on. L, unlike B, seemed to lack an internal clock and posses no concept of time. His sleeping habits are irregular, whereas B seems to never sleep at all. L wasn't particularly embarrassed when he admitted that his self-care and life skills were less-than adequate.

"It's not that I don't know how to regulate myself or can't. I really just don't feel like it," he had explained.

To B, this had seemed utterly ridiculous, as L was a full-grown man who was more than capable of pulling his own shirt over his head, yet, for all his pride, had no shame in asking his handler to do it for him. B had suspected, upon continued, unintentional observation of L, that his unlikely companion had some form of autistic spectrum disorder, most likely Asperger's syndrome, which Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Beethoven, Benjamin Franklin, Elvis Presley, George Washington, Bill Gates, Socrates, and other similarly talented people are heavily speculated to have had. However, B doubts Asperger's syndrome, or any similar condition, can be blamed for L's unusual, nitpicky manner in which he maintains himself. There comes a point where a diagnosis can be slapped on and treatment provided, but only so much can be accredited to a neurological disorder when L's actions are simply him being... L.

Watari, through a few years of working with him, could have easily corrected L's posture, mannerisms, and dependence, but L simply did not _want _to be _fixed_. And that was where L's natural personality came in. If L could deduce that there was a problem in how he ate, sat, or went about his daily routines, then he was much, much more than intelligent enough to know that he should correct himself. However, where L saw only benefits and frivolous social contracts in his methods, he was unlikely to change those aspects of himself for the sake of anyone else.

Noting these things and analyzing them isn't out of interest; B is simply bored, and sharing a cell with L is, by far, the most interesting thing in his life right now. He had already tried to analyze and outsmart L the detective, and in the wake of that failure, he is left to try and observe what kind of _person _L was.

Within the first month, L's mental stability and ironclad resolve made him virtually impossible to even begin to figure out. There was no doubting that L was human and was prone to human weaknesses, as he couldn't keep from crying out when especially surprised or injured. L did not speak to him as though he were anything more than an acquaintance from a previous case – in fact, though impressed with B, he seemed almost entirely dismissive of his presence.

Within the second month, and when the intensity of his punishments and interrogations increased to the point of nearly crippling him, L had begun to associate more with B. The two of them weren't friends and they didn't pretend to be, but they had gone, seemingly overnight, from acknowledging each other's presence to enjoying it. Never knowing L personally, B was surprised at how easy L seemed to be able to converse. He had known from having met L beforehand that L was not terribly social and knew little of customs that most people held as a standard for communicating. But, somehow, most likely through his strange relationship and constant interaction with Light Yagami over a period of years, L seemed to have warmed up to human contact. And, while B had his doubts, it was even possible that L changed his own clothes.

L is never unfriendly to him, and is, oftentimes, quite kind. B, still not over his having once revered L, does his best to be helpful. Within the four walls of their cell, he is no longer the criminal BB, and L is no longer the detective who was responsible for his capture. They are simply two people thrown into a predicament because they are unusually intelligent, and who just happened to have a history together.

As time went on, B learned of L's very unusual relationship with Kira. The idea of L having a friend is baffling, but B isn't sure if there were _words _for how bizarre it was to hear of L _in a romantic relationship _with another person _without _doing so for the sake of his hobby and _enjoying it_.

"A lot of it has to do with his having been Kira. You're not wrong about that," L had explained. "It takes a lot for me to care about someone as a person, since most people are useless to me. But Yagami-kun is quite a bit like me, and I enjoy him. It's a foolish thing to do, and there's no justification for it, I know. Caring about someone to this sort of degree is signing a contract saying that you'll stop being rational about them. And it bothers me that that's the truth, but it doesn't change what will happen when I expose him as Kira."

B had been rather fascinated by this, and while curious, he has never explicitly pressed L for details. B, unlike L, has had friends in the past, and, for a time, the love and comfort of his parents. Yet the degree to which L cares for Light Yagami, if L was telling the truth (though he had no reason not to), is something B can't completely understand. He had dismissed L's strange views on the former Kira as being an odd type of admiration.

By the third month, it is obvious that L is missing Light Yagami. It can no longer be hidden, and L makes no attempt to hide it.

–

There is light now, and L lowers his legs to the floor and says nothing more to B. Light means that someone is coming, and he is in no mood to be roared at to shut up or correct his posture. A sudden, dull ache in his joints reminds him – as if he needs reminding – that his body is at its limit. As it is, he is almost completely covered in cuts and abrasions, with numerous cigarette and poker burns dotting his back, shoulders, thighs, stomach, and buttocks. There are gashes down his back and arms from excessive lashings, and cleaner, more precise slices given to him by the surprisingly sharp edge of a stiletto.

His throat burns with thirst, and to breathe is comparable to drinking molten metal, but he shows this as little as he can. He's filthy down to his fingernails and without their dressings, his wounds would have long since become infected and killed him. He's cold, as he always is, and finds it more amusing than he should that the only warmth he's ever offered is the heat that sears his skin.

He tries not to look over his surroundings too much; he knows them perfectly by now and doesn't need to be reminded of how filthy everything is. But the habit cannot be broken; he's self-preservative to a fault, and even the most subtle of changes can affect his well-being.

L isn't surprised when he's the first this particular one of his captors comes up to him first. She's a small-framed Japanese woman wearing an especially short miniskirt and what Soichiro Yagami refers to as "stripper shoes". The most he knows about her is that she goes by "Hatsune" and that she has absolutely no regard for human life. Unlike the rest of his captors, she has virtually no interest in Kira's will or in interrogating him for the sake of information. It is simply a means of income for her, and a wonderful means of amusement.

"Hey," she says as she approaches him.

"Hello," he responds, keeping his face blank as he hears the clinking of metal keys.

She pushes the door open carelessly, much the same as she handles any other task she has to carry out. "It's your turn, Hunchback."

B is glaring at her, and she responds with a varnished smile with all the character and warmth of plastic. She's still smiling when B, unable to do much more, flips her off and returns to his position.

L stands, doing his best to ignore the white-hot flashes of pain that seem to spread like flames down every part of his body that's forced to move. He's known nothing but pain for three months, but pain is not something that anyone, through any amount of exposure, can ever adjust to or become immune to.

"Hurry up," Hatsune whines, and the shrillness of her voice makes him stiffen in a rare moment of irritation.

He's walking now, following her as she practically skips down the hallway. He quietly closes the door behind him because he knows the courteous gesture will irritate her.

"Light Yagami was a Kira suspect," Hatsune says in a sing-song tone.

L is surprised that she's gained this knowledge, and is, in truth, rather scared of how much _else _they could know.

It was only a week ago that L, mind foggy and uncomprehending under the influence of drugs, had mentioned the importance of a person named Light. Since his unfortunate slip, they have been using his only apparent weakness against him, though to little avail.

L, since that one slip of information, has been more careful than ever, both when under and when free from the influence of their various serums.

"Light Yagami? I'm not familiar," he answers.

"I doubt that," Hatsune says in almost a sneer. "It's a very unusual name, but as it turns out, someone in Japan who has ties to the Japanese police is named Light. His father is the current police chief, though he quit briefly in 2004. He recently finished his university studies and joined their ranks."

L nodded, seeming to shrug this off. "And why do you believe that this individual is a Kira suspect?"

Hatsune laughs as she suddenly comes to a halt, stripper-shoes skidding on cheap linoleum. "Kira is believed to have been a student. Kira is also believed to have ties to the Japanese police. And with L." Hatsune's grin recedes into a small smile. Her strawberry-red lipstick is smeared, and L briefly entertains the idea of imagining that she's bleeding from the mouth.

"That's quite a conclusion to come to. I'm impressed; from what I know of the Kira case, it seems spot-on."

"Probably because it is," she responds, sticking her tongue out before roughly grabbing the handle of a door and throwing it open, motioning for L to follow.

L is cautious and calculating as he enters a brightly-lit room that smells of alcohol and plastic tubing. He can deduce a lot from the simple details of his surroundings, and it's evident to him immediately in the ache of his limbs and the jagged shapes of instruments hidden beneath a thin white cloth that today's ordeals are going to be new and potentially worse than ever.

"Clothes off," Hatsune squeaks as she shuts the door behind them.

L nods and obeys.


End file.
